Every four years the bright flame of amateur sport, loved by the people, burns brightly:
Oops, let's try again:
There we go, the Olympic flame properly protected from the gibbering idiots who would use it to burn witches upon. Said raving maniacs below:
A more disturbing Olympic tradition is to have giants leave turds floating in your harbour. Who knew?
I slid my hand around her waist. It was smooth, not a ripple, not a bump. She slid her hand around my waist. And all I could think about was whether she could feel the muffin top squeezing out from my jeans.Muffin top? Thanks Olympics.